<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Lord´s Love by Jinges</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29518809">The Lord´s Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinges/pseuds/Jinges'>Jinges</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Assistant Harry Potter, CEO Tom Riddle, Enemies to Lovers, Harry Potter is a Sweetheart, Harry is Not a Pushover, Lawyer Tom Riddle, M/M, Mpreg, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Tom Riddle, Power Imbalance, Rich Tom Riddle, Sane Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle Being an Asshole, Tom gets nicer I swear, Tom is Called Lord But in a Non Voldy Way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:35:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29518809</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinges/pseuds/Jinges</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Forcibly becoming his childhood bully´s assistant is not Harry´s idea of a good time. But hey, now that he has hit rock bottom, at least it can´t get any worse.<br/>(Harry´s guardian angel seems to be lying dead in a ditch.)</p><p>If asked, Tom would deny having planned any of this. That doesn´t mean he isn´t allowed to enjoy it, though.<br/>(The little devil on his shoulder is having a field day.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>385</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 0</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimers:<br/>This work was loosely inspired by LJ Shen´s "Vicious"! It gets pretty different very quickly, but the dynamics are quite similar. If you haven´t read it and enjoy romantic literature with an asshole protagonist, I can definitely recommend it.</p><p>This is NOT an a/b/o-fic, I just wanted some mpreg-content so I decided to write it myself. If that´s not your cup of tea, that´s quite alright, it wasn´t mine until recently. </p><p>And, of course, all forms of engagement are welcome, please don´t be shy if you like or dislike something.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em> Please don’t deceive me when I hurt you </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just ain’t the way it seems </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Can you feel my love buzz? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Can you feel my love buzz? </em>
</p><p>                <em> - </em>Love buzz, Nirvana</p><p> </p><p>Tom isn´t somebody to overly enjoy masses of people. Not when their undivided attention isn´t on him, at least. It´s why he has left his own party ages ago, not bothering to leave anybody on watchdog duty.</p><p> </p><p>Any damage on the property in the main house matters little to him, seeing as it belongs completely to his parents and those two shit money and also don´t care.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn´t care either, not for the girl that is currently trying to give him a hard-on by wriggling in his lap and not for the loud music playing in the background.                                                    The chick, she probably has a name, probably has told him, looks ridiculous. Like a steadily more uneasy worm, long limbs folded awkwardly and face flushed.                                                        The music, he´s almost certain that it´s Nirvana, is probably picked by Orion, famously known for being a basic bitch.</p><p> </p><p>The basic bitch himself is sitting to his left, with a boy between his legs who´s head is bobbing to the beat of the song. To his right, Abraxas is lounging, currently without a personal entertainer. Rosier by his side makes up for it, having two girls plastered to his body and a lazy grin on his face.</p><p> </p><p>"Yo, Lord, you wanna hit?" Abraxas asks when he meets Tom´s eyes, passing him a half-smoked joint.</p><p> </p><p>Tom grabs it between two fingers and takes a long drag. He missed this, he realizes, just chilling and smoking with his best mates.</p><p> </p><p>He hasn´t seen them in a while, not after all of them were respectively forced by their parental figures to go on vacation.</p><p> </p><p>Tom was dragged to the Bahamas, on a private island. It sucked ass, the sand was being sandy and the sun sunny and his parents nagging bastards.</p><p> </p><p>He had spent most of his time inside his rooms trying to catch the least amount of sun rays possible. He doesn´t tan, he just gets red and that is simply unacceptable. His mother didn´t understand, when does she ever, and tried everything in her power to have him join in on her silly little quest to skin the colour of fried chicken.</p><p> </p><p>He´s glad to be back, the familiar English greyness welcoming him like an old friend.</p><p> </p><p>The girl in his lap apparently has given up her attempts at seducing him, or maybe she just isn´t a fan of hot smoke hitting her neck. She stands up with shaky legs and makes her way to the door of the gaming room they´re all currently in. It´s the one in the basement, dominated by large black leather couches and gaming machines.</p><p> </p><p>He likes his personal one better, but he isn´t about to let some nameless hoes taint it with their smell of perfume and desperation.</p><p> </p><p>The girl has finally made it to the door and is just about to push it open as somebody pounds on it from the outside. </p><p> </p><p>She staggers back a bit, almost falling to the ground and Tom doesn´t bother to conceal his grin. </p><p> </p><p>"What the fuck?" Rosier muses from beside him. </p><p> </p><p>What the fuck indeed, nobody is allowed down here, it´s common knowledge. </p><p> </p><p>His father is away on a business trip (which translates to <em>f</em><em>ucking his secretary in a hotel suite</em>), his mother is visiting friends in London (which translates to <em>g</em><em>etting drunk and crying about her husband fucking his secretary in a hotel suite</em>) and the help is free for the night. </p><p> </p><p>The door opens slowly, revealing a small boy in big clothes. </p><p> </p><p>With an excited shout, Orion stands up, effectively pushing the boy between his legs to the ground on his back. Orion gives him a distasteful glance before he once more focusses on the newcomer.</p><p> </p><p>"Harry, love," he walks up to the boy, "what´re you doing here? Wanna join in on the fun?"</p><p> </p><p>Harry gives him a disgustingly shy smile, cheeks pinkening. His eyes wander over to Tom and his expression immediately darkens. </p><p> </p><p>"No, actually, I just wanted to ask for my textbook back. It´s not on my nightstand where I left it. You know something about that, Tom?"</p><p> </p><p>Tom flexes his jaw muscles, aggravated. Harry knows very well that he despises being called by his first name, the connection to his sperm donor not something he wants to be reminded of.            It´s why he does it, obviously, because if Harry James Potter enjoys one thing, it´s peeving Tom to the point of fury. </p><p> </p><p>But, the dislike is mutual, which is why Tom took Harry´s textbook in the first place. They have a quiz on Monday and knowing Harry, it was obvious that he would study for it last minute.            The textbook is currently laying in Tom´s safe, on top of all the study papers he could find (and maybe one of Harry´s chewed-on pencils, but that is neither here nor there). </p><p> </p><p>His face is expressionless as he answers, "I have no idea what you´re talking about. It´s not my fault that you can´t take care of your possessions," he lets his eyes wander up and down the short boy´s body, "Though it does not surprise me, seeing how you´re dressed."</p><p> </p><p>Harry´s scowl, if possible, gets even deeper. "You´re a bloody sod head, Tom. I´ll just go looking for it in your bedroom, see how <em>you</em>´ll like it when somebody goes through your stuff."</p><p> </p><p>At that, Tom rises. </p><p> </p><p>He towers over Harry by at least a head and his expression has to be nothing short of murderous. </p><p> </p><p>"Set a foot in my bedroom and I´m gonna cut up your pretty face more than I already have. I don´t care for your fucking textbook, don´t hold yourself so important."</p><p> </p><p>Orion is obviously sensing that Tom means it, that he is really getting angry now, so he slings an arm around Harry´s shoulders and pulls him into his body. </p><p> </p><p>„How about we drive to mine and I´ll lend you my book, love?“, he murmurs into the side of Harry´s head, carefully watching Tom over the mop of black curls. </p><p> </p><p>Harry looks like he really wants to call Tom some names, but a pointed look of his to the scar on Harry´s forehead makes the smaller boy shrink in on himself. </p><p> </p><p>„Yeah, alright. But I want my book back by next week, Tom. We both know you have it and I will find it myself if you don´t give it back. You know I will.“ Harry turns and walks out of the room, passing what´s-her-face who apparently forgot how she really wanted to return to the party upstairs just moments ago. </p><p> </p><p>Orion makes a move to follow after the other boy, but Tom fixes him with a look. </p><p> </p><p>"Don´t. Fucking. Touch. My. Property." he grits out between his teeth, stepping forward until his chest almost meets Orion´s. </p><p> </p><p>Orion has known him long enough to immediately get what he´s talking about. A cocky grin spreads on his face regardless. Tom wants to wipe it off with a brick.</p><p> </p><p>"Harry´s not your property, Lord. He can fuck and get fucked by whoever he wants. And right now, I´m pretty sure he wants me."</p><p> </p><p>"As long as he lives in my house and wears clothes paid with my money, he belongs to me. And I say you´re not to touch him. Understood?"                                                                                   Tom now fully closes the distance between him and his best friend. He´s pretty sure he wouldn´t harm Orion physically, not anymore at least, but a little intimidation never hurt nobody.</p><p> </p><p>Too bad that Orion doesn´t seem overly intimidated, more so amused and perhaps a bit smug. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay, okay, Lord, I got you. No touching sweet little Harrison until he sleeps in my bed naked," Tom growls lowly in the back of his throat. "Ah, no need to go all alpha on me. I won´t do anything with Harry, all stays family-friendly and above the waistline. Scout´s promise."</p><p> </p><p>Orion steps back a bit to show Tom his crossed-over pinky and thumb. </p><p> </p><p>Tom nods once, then waves him away in a dismissive flip of his wrist. </p><p> </p><p>Orion steers out the door, not without turning one last time to wink at Tom and mouth something that looks suspiciously close to "<em>whipped"</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Tom frowns and slumps back onto the couch. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay everybody, get your asses out of here right now, the show is over. Mandy, call me, alright,"                                                                                                                                                      Rosier shoos all the disposable stats out, who pout but don´t protest, except for the girl that might be called Mandy, or Mindy or perhaps Elisabeth. It doesn´t matter, she won´t be around for long and she seems to get that she is being addressed.</p><p> </p><p>Alone for the first time this night, Tom, Rosier and an overly amused looking Abraxas stay behind.</p><p> </p><p>"You´re not going to give Potter´s book back, are you?", the blond asks while twirling yet another joint between his fingers. </p><p> </p><p>"Fuck no, you know me.“ Tom smiles a real, genuine smile. "All that belongs to Harry is mine."</p><p> </p><p>His two friends only nod. They´re used to this. </p><p> </p><p>It´s not like Tom´s obsession with Harry Potter is anything new. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I like this chapter a lot better than the first, so I hope y´all do as well. </p><p>Thank you so much to all the people that gave kudos (OVER a 100?! WHAT) and bookmarked this!!</p><p>Also a super big hug to the people that commented, you all are very sweet and motivated me to pump this out a lot faster than originally planned.</p><p>Now, enjoy this longer chapter!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em>We prefer poverty in liberty to riches in slavery.</em>
</p><p>                                  -Ahmed Sékoe Touré</p><p> </p><p>London´s streets are full of people.</p><p> </p><p>Asian tourists with maps and guidebooks in their hands and awed expressions on their faces, business people barking orders in smartphones and the occasional Jehova´s witness stopping passers-by to ask if they are interested in a brochure that will help them find their way into God´s loving arms.</p><p> </p><p>Harry has been in London for more than half a year and it still astonishes him how there´s people <em>everywhere, </em>All. The. Time<em>.</em></p><p> </p><p>He likes it, in a way, all the hustle and bustle, so different from the small earldom he grew up in. It gives him what he has been craving for so long now, anonymity and the possibility to just be a face of many, to let himself drown in not knowing names to faces and not having to learn them either.</p><p> </p><p>It hasn´t always been like that, his childhood a sheer infinite string of names and titles and <em>boredom.</em></p><p> </p><p>He shudders at the thought of index cards with elegantly written scrawls of <em>Lady Meredith, Suffolk </em><em>and</em> <em>Viscount Pelgrim, Essex </em>and almost collides with an angry-looking man in a football jersey. The man doesn´t even glance at him, simply sidesteps before Harry can even attempt an apology.</p><p> </p><p><em>Londoners</em>, he thinks, to busy even for the mandatory English exchange of pleasantries.</p><p> </p><p>He is, too, though, he has a destination and exactly... two minutes to get there. Crap.</p><p> </p><p>Harry can´t afford to be late, he´ll get fired and then what? Sleeping on the streets doesn´t even sound fun in theory, not when he isn´t a tragic fantasy-novel-hero but a scrawny pretty boy.</p><p> </p><p>So, he hurries, wills his legs to go just a little bit faster and not have him trip.</p><p> </p><p>He´s slightly out of breath when "<em>Perzer" c</em>omes into view</p><p> </p><p>It´s a restaurant way too good for Harry to be working in, with his only credentials to working in catering being a pub in northern Scotland that has had to close due to violation of hygiene guidelines.</p><p> </p><p>He isn´t complaining, though, the pay is decent (or it would be if housing in London didn´t cost a leg and a kidney) and the restaurant isn´t as boujee as he expected when he came in on his first day. He is almost certain that the "European-fusion-cuisine" that they market themselves as is just a loophole to offer every dish possible to appeal to more people.</p><p> </p><p>Harry opens the door to the restaurant quickly, his musing about culinary marketing-tactics having slowed him down by quite a bit.</p><p> </p><p>"Harry!" All he can do is try not to tumble to the ground when something large and red-headed attacks him and attaches to his front. "I thought you wouldn´t make it on time, mate. But here you are!"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, here I am." Harry smiles into Ron´s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Ron Weasley is his favourite coworker by far, perhaps even his favourite human being, period.                                                                                                                                                              He is also a member of a family the size of a small army, hence the unapologetic touchiness.</p><p> </p><p>"You have to hurry, man, we´re opening like right now. Locky´s gonna flip his shit if you´re not ready." Ron uses his hold on Harry to manoeuvre him into the break room that simultaneously functions as a changing room (Yes, they have to wear uniforms. Yes, they are pretentious.). He only has a second to nod at the other staff already busy setting up tables.</p><p> </p><p>The Locky that Ron is talking about, that´s "<em>Perzer"´</em><em>s </em>owner<em>. </em>His given name is Gilderoy Lockhart, but nobody bothers with that monstrosity pretending to be words. He´s a fairly good guy if a bit taken by himself.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   He has fantastic hair though, which is always a plus in Harry´s books.</p><p> </p><p>But, for all his glorious blond locks and easy-going personality, he <em>does </em>despise tardiness and tends to penalize it.</p><p> </p><p>It´s why, when Harry opens his bag and looks inside, a surprised "<em>FUCK" is </em>the reaction that comes most natural.</p><p> </p><p>The bag <em>should </em>contain a freshly ironed pair of black trousers and a crisp white shirt.</p><p> </p><p>The emphasis lays on s<em>hould</em>, though, because all there is inside is an empty pack of gum and a hairband.</p><p> </p><p>This, this isn´t good. This is so not good, it borders on <em>bad.</em></p><p> </p><p>"Um, Ron?" He asks, voice meek. "You don´t coincidentally have a spare uniform, do you?"</p><p> </p><p>Ron turns to him where he was fixing his hair in the mirror on the side. "Pretty sure I have another shirt. It´s too big for me so I never wear it. You forgot yours?"</p><p> </p><p>Harry nods sheepishly. "I think I left it next to my bag and forgot to pack it. Can I take you up on that shirt?"</p><p> </p><p>Ron walks over to his tattered sea sack and pulls out a gigantic piece of white, rumpled fabric.</p><p> </p><p>It´s <em>enormous </em>and "How did you ever think that would fit you?", Harry blurts out.</p><p> </p><p>Now it´s Ron´s turn to look embarrassed. "I don´t know, I didn´t try it on, I think, I just kinda went with my sense of proportion and hoped for the best. It didn´t work out, but what can you do? You´ll probably drown in it, maybe tie it in the front? That´s what my sister does sometimes."</p><p> </p><p>Harry grabs it and pulls it over his head, conveniently already buttoned. The shirt almost falls to his knees and the collar exposes half of his chest. He isn´t really in a position to complain, though, so he just makes a knot in the front like Ron suggested. It does make it a little bit better, even though he doesn´t look as business-chic as usual and more "<em>Howdy, folks, wanna try out the mechanic bull?"</em></p><p> </p><p>He decides to just leave on his jeans. They´re black, too, after all. They´re also a lot tighter than his work trousers, but he can´t do anything about that.</p><p> </p><p>"Thanks, Ron, you saved me. Now leave your poor hair alone, you look good."</p><p> </p><p>He takes Ron by the hand and pulls him out of the room into the actual restaurant.</p><p> </p><p>The people on setting-up-duty have finished by now and one of Harry´s coworkers, a uni student named Cho, flips the old fashioned sign on the door to "<em>We´re open."</em></p><p> </p><p>Harry tries to straighten the creases in his shirt one last time. Let the show begin.</p><p> </p><p>------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Several hours later, his feet burn. His cheeks do, too, from all the looks he´s been getting for his appearance.</p><p> </p><p>He didn´t think it would be that big of a deal, there are people dressed way more liberally than him at all times of the day in London. But maybe, he muses, not where "<em>Perzer" ´s </em>clientele is spending their time. There are not a lot of drag queens and intoxicated swedes in golf clubs, he speaks from experience.</p><p> </p><p>His shift is almost over now and <em>halleluja</em>, he has earnt every cent he gets for today.</p><p> </p><p>Harry makes his way over to a newly arrived guest who sits alone at a table in the far right corner.</p><p> </p><p>He can only see his back from where he approaches, but he can detect that the man is tall and well dressed. He rounds the table before coming to a halt in front of the guest.</p><p> </p><p>"Good evening, Sir, my name is Harry and I will be your waiter for tonight. What can I get you?"</p><p> </p><p>He looks up from his notepad only to startle a bit.</p><p> </p><p>That man is <em>insanely </em>attractive, all broad shoulders, dark hair and strong jawline.</p><p> </p><p>"It´s hardly evening," The man talks with a strong accent, distinctly eastern-european. "And I´m waiting for somebody, so I´ll just take a water for now. Sparkling."</p><p> </p><p>Harry´s smile is a little more strained now. Is it really <em>that hard</em> for rich people to be nice?                                                                                                                                                              Almost everybody he has ever met that had money on the bank was either plain rude or an outright asshole (Some more than others. NO, Harry, not going there. Focus.).</p><p> </p><p>"Of course, Sir, I´ll be right back with your drink."</p><p> </p><p>The man doesn´t even look up from where he is staring at his iPhone, so Harry just walks to the kitchen without looking back.</p><p> </p><p>He gets the man his sparkling water and sets it in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn´t even bother with any niceties, he doubts they would be appreciated.</p><p> </p><p>On the other side of the room, a group of young women makes eye-contact with him and gestures to their empty plates, so he makes his way over to them to get their tableware.</p><p> </p><p>The man can surely tend to himself and doesn´t seem to enjoy his presence anyways.</p><p> </p><p>Harry busies himself with his other tables, most of them occupied by people that have the decency not to stare at him like a peculiarity.</p><p> </p><p>It´s moments like these when he enjoys his job most, chatting with rich old ladies and bankers without them looking down at him for his ancestry and skin tone. No, now they have a <em>business relationship, </em>they want something from him, and let it be only the daily specials. It´s incredibly refreshing to not be seen as a charity case but as an adult that has something to offer.</p><p> </p><p>His good mood dims a bit when he sees that the guest in the corner has gotten company. It´s another suit-wearing man, who´s back is directed towards the room as well.</p><p> </p><p>He sighs softly, two of this kind are a bit much to stomach with seven hours of work in his bones.</p><p> </p><p>But Harry is a professional, has been for almost six months now. His fake smile could deceive anybody, even asshole rich boys.</p><p> </p><p>He approaches the table with long strides, wanting to get it over with.</p><p> </p><p>But oh. Oh<em>. Oh fuck, fuckity, fuck fuck fuck. </em></p><p> </p><p>Every muscle in Harry´s body flexes and he can feel his heart drop into his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>The man next to his least favourite guest is no other than Tom Riddle.</p><p> </p><p>Frantically, Harry searches for a way out. The two men are engrossed in their conversation, maybe he can just retreat silently and send another waiter, maybe he can lock himself in the toilet, maybe-</p><p> </p><p>Tom moves his head and stares him right in the eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Harry freezes.</p><p> </p><p>It really isn´t like he hadn´t taken into account that Tom probably also lived here when he moved to London. He was well aware of Tom´s aspirations and knew that the man would most definitely accomplish them. Tom was rich and incredibly intelligent, there were no obstacles in his way to becoming part of London´s lawyer crème de la crème.</p><p> </p><p>He knew all that but still confided in the fact that London had millions of habitants.</p><p>Meeting a specific one by chance was practically impossible. He had <em>worked</em> for it to be impossible, for God´s sake. He never went to clubs that looked like they were Tom´s milieu, avoided any and all high-class establishments and tried to leave as few traces of his existence in this city as possible.</p><p> </p><p>All of that obviously meant nothing, not when he is staring wide-eyed at the man reigning over his nightmares right now.</p><p> </p><p>Said man eyes him up appreciatively, almost hungrily.</p><p> </p><p>"What can I get you, gentlemen?", Harry asks. He is incredibly thankful for his dark skin right now, if he were any paler, he would no doubt be dark red in the face.</p><p> </p><p>Tom takes a short glance at the menu card while his companion takes a long sip of water.</p><p> </p><p>"We´re both taking the Ratatouille with plaice. Thank you...?"</p><p> </p><p>Oh, Harry sees what Tom is trying to do. Once an asshole, always an asshole, apparently.</p><p> </p><p>"My name is Harry. Would you also like a drink with your food?"</p><p> </p><p>"No, we´re good. Thank you regardless, <em>Harry</em>."</p><p> </p><p>Has Tom always looked so predatorial? Or is that just his face? Harry wouldn´t know, five years can make somebody a very different person.</p><p> </p><p>If Tom has managed to get even creepier, good for him, it would be a shame to not develop his naturally given talents further.</p><p> </p><p>"Certainly. I´ll be right back with your food."</p><p> </p><p>Tom smiles a non-commital smile and for a second, Harry´s heart flutters from where it has made it´s way up out of his stomach. Tom is still the most attractive person he has ever seen, the extra years have done nothing but make him look more like a fallen angel.</p><p> </p><p>But it doesn´t matter. Tom had always looked lethally gorgeous and he still managed to be everything Harry despises in a human being.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn´t smile back, swiftly turns and walks (read: staggers, seeing Tom really surprised him, okay?!) towards the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>He informs the cook of the new orders, to which Hagrid only rolls his eyes and mumbles "I´m startin´ ter think Ratatouille ´s all we offer".</p><p> </p><p>And then, because he is a coward, he searches for Ron and begs him to take the table in the corner with the two dark-haired men.</p><p> </p><p>"Why?" Ron asks, eyes narrowed. "Did they say something about your outfit, too? I swear, it´s like these snobby twats here have never seen a body. I can go tell them they can sod off, Locky wouldn´t have a problem with that, he always says-"</p><p> </p><p>"No, no it´s fine Ron," Harry interrupts. "I just know one of the blokes from my time in the village. We weren´t exactly friends."</p><p> </p><p>Ron´s face lights up in understanding. Harry hasn´t told him much about his past, mostly because he doesn´t want to be reminded of it. The few things he did share with his friend were enough, though. He hasn´t mentioned the extreme stuff, just painted a bit of a picture, but it was sufficient to shock Ron core-deep. Having a picture-perfect childhood means living in a bubble where knives play only a very subordinate role, Harry learned.</p><p> </p><p>"Sure thing I can cover for you, mate. I can even punch them in their ugly mugs if you want. I´ve got a strong right hook, you know." Ron grins at him and Harry feels a weight drop off his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you, man. You´re saving me twice in one day, I owe you. And no need to turn to violence, the bloke´s not worth serving time in jail."</p><p> </p><p>His friend shrugs before he pats him on the shoulder comradely and says: "Well, I better get going. Maybe spend the rest of the shift in the back room. You look kinda pale."</p><p> </p><p>-------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>When Harry exits the break room again, the first thing that comes to his mind is "Here shouldn´t be a wall." Then he collides with a broad, firm chest.</p><p> </p><p>He stumbles back a bit, rubbing his stinging nose. If he starts bleeding, he´s gonna sue.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, what do we have here? I feared you´d already gotten away, dear Harrison.", a voice sounds from above his head.</p><p> </p><p>He looks up, right into the face of one smug-looking Tom Riddle.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, now you remember me? What do you want, Tom?" If Harry sounds bitter, it´s because he is.</p><p> </p><p>Partly because he thought he would never have to fall victim to Tom´s psycho-games again and partly because a very small piece of him really considered it in the realm of the possible that Tom didn´t recognize him. Maybe his out-grown hair is enough to cover up his identity.</p><p> </p><p>His attempts at self-deceiving were obviously futile if Tom crowding him against a wall and snarling in his ear is anything to go by.</p><p> </p><p>"What do I want? I want to pick up my straying belongings and have them stop their misbehaving. And maybe feel up your thighs in those pants," Tom pushes his head back and grins with sharp teeth. "Good thing I´m an excellent multitasker, hm?"</p><p> </p><p>Harry gulps audibly, head suddenly foggy. "What´s your plan? I´m not gonna go anywhere with you."</p><p> </p><p>Tom sighs and pushes into space Harry wasn´t even aware existed previously.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, Harry. You don´t exactly have a choice."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I originally wanted to have a quote out of this song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8WJYwFlyUg at the beginning but decided against it. Still, it is very good and if you look up the translation, also very fitting to our poor Harry´s situation.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have re-written this four times and now I want to never see this chapter ever again. It still sounds a bit weird to me, but I hope you enjoy it regardless.</p><p>Thanks again to all the beautiful people who commented nice things and gave kudos. Your interest in whatever this is is making me very happy :))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Patience is power. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Patience is not an absence of action; </em>
</p><p>
  <em> rather it is "timing" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> it waits on the right time to act, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> for the right principles </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and in the right way. </em>
</p><p>                 -Fulton J. Sheen</p><p> </p><p>"Never let your kidnapper take you to a secondary location,"</p><p> </p><p>Harry can almost hear Mrs McGonagall´s voice, heavy and throaty, laced with a never yielding Scottish accent.</p><p> </p><p>It is a phrase engraved into his mind, forming the centre of a diverse array of survival tips, homespun philosophies and the occasional praise.</p><p> </p><p>It was Minerva McGonagall´s bequest. She had spent hours and hours talking to him, trying to give him a feeling of family and belonging and general common sense he otherwise lacked. Their conversations had meant the world to him once upon a time and he would have rather chewed off his own arm than disappoint and defy his mentor.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn´t feel really any different about her and her instructions now, so it is truly an unpleasant surprise that Harry currently finds himself not only at <em>a  </em> but at <em>the  </em> Secondary Location<em>™. </em></p><p> </p><p>It had been embarrassingly easy for Tom and his suddenly materialized minions to steer him out of the back of the restaurant. He didn´t even think about calling for Ron, or anybody really, too stunned about Tom´s appearance and his nerve to corner him like that.</p><p> </p><p>The black car he was manoeuvred into had just been the logical conclusion to the whole ordeal of "Removing Harry from his workplace and probably getting him fired" and even if he had wanted to run, Tom´s steel strap of an arm around his shoulders and scowling security men would have made it an impossibility.</p><p> </p><p>So, he has plenty of justifications for why he is currently sitting in Tom´s office (den? Headquarter? Lair of evil?).</p><p> </p><p>None of them would count in Mrs McGonagall´s books, or Ron´s for that matter, who has undoubtedly noticed he is gone with his bag left behind, but they are sufficient enough to not make him freak out just yet.</p><p> </p><p>Surely, if he were in any real danger, his alarm bells would have started ringing and he wouldn´t have been overpowered this easily. He has a strong fighting spirit and good intuition, leftovers from a time when he had to push the dresser in front of his door to hinder Tom from regularly searching his room at night.</p><p> </p><p>Said man seemingly lost his interest in Harry not years ago as planned, but only mere seconds ago. He had steered Harry into his office, hand on his lower back, smile on his face, only to leave Harry to himself right after. Tom had locked the door from the outside with a click (<em> illegal, illegal, danger</em>, Harry´s mind had supplied belatedly) and Harry had had no other choice but to get comfortable in the gigantic room.</p><p> </p><p>The office is surprisingly lively, he has to give Tom that, it´s light and airy and only slightly over the top. It´s an improvement from the other man´s childhood bedroom, at least from what Harry had seen passing by, layers of suffocating dark green and heavy oak furniture.</p><p> </p><p>This room right here isn´t anything like that and it truly would be a great place to spend time and relax for a bit, if he hadn´t been <em>kidnapped </em>and <em>locked in</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It has been five minutes since Tom left, the electric clock on the wall not ticking but still managing to somehow be <em>loud </em>and Harry´s mind is rattling. They are in a building full of people and Tom has long surpassed his truly violent phases, but that doesn´t mean he can´t keep him locked in here for hours.</p><p> </p><p>There´s a phone on the otherwise almost empty table, but even if it happens to work, Harry doesn´t want to call anybody just yet. He knows exactly what Tom is doing right now, has witnessed it time and time again. It´s a display of power, one done without any finesse and Harry refuses to admit defeat to it this soon into the game.</p><p> </p><p>This situation sucks, yes, and he probably has to start looking for a new job right about now, all because of Tom, but it is also incomprehensibly silly. Now that he has gotten over his former surprise, he can see how all of this is a gigantic theatre play. Security guards, really, Tom?</p><p>It´s intimidating and dramatic and oh so familiar.</p><p> </p><p>As if Tom has sensed Harry´s rapidly dissolving fear, the other man appears in the doorframe.</p><p> </p><p>"Now we can talk," he says with a disarming smile and Harry can´t help but wonder why they couldn´t in the restaurant, or in the car, or in this office ten minutes ago.</p><p> </p><p>"What about?" He watches suspiciously as Tom strides over to the chair behind the desk and lowers himself into it gracefully.</p><p> </p><p>They are face to face now, with Harry wriggling around in the stool intended for guests and clients.</p><p> </p><p>"A plenitude of things, dear Harry. We haven´t seen each other in a while, after all. Your departure from England was so sudden you must have forgotten to give me your new address," A saccharine sweet smile lifts the corners of Tom´s mouth, dimple on full display. "But it´s done no harm. We´ll have more than enough time to catch up soon enough."</p><p> </p><p>Harry almost wants to laugh. This is so very Tom, ominous and polished.</p><p> </p><p>"I don´t really want to spend any more time than necessary in your presence, Tom, so I would appreciate it if you came to the point. I have to go read job advertisements since your little kidnapping stunt has most probably cost me mine." His voice is sharp, but Tom looks unfazed, all amusement, shining behind cold blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"Coincidentally, your employment is what I wanted to discuss from the beginning. It is not exactly appropriate for somebody associated with my person as closely as you are still to work in a restaurant. I would have left you a choice, resigning immediately or with a leave, but you seem convinced that you have been let go of already. It makes all of this much easier, though you probably don´t share this assessment yet." Harry tries to quickly calculate how many years he would get in court for manslaughter. His murderous intentions must reflect on his face because Tom leans forward conspiratorially and pulls a folder from where he put it on the table when he came in for the second time.</p><p> </p><p>"Look, Harry," Oh how he hates that tone, <em> here´s why you´re wrong </em>in perfect balance with <em>bow down to me, peasant. " </em>I´m not proposing you go without a job. Actually-" Tom opens up the folder and spins it so that Harry can read what is written on the paper inside. "-actually, I am proposing that you start working for me."</p><p> </p><p>That empty vase on the window sill looks heavy enough to crack open somebody´s skull if he can get it from the right angle and take a strong enough swing. Or maybe that thick book on the shelf. Or, if he wants to go for real dramatic, even his chair could be an option, though he´ll have to be careful and only hit with the legs, the seat´s glass, that´ll be a nightmare to clean up as well as all the blood-</p><p> </p><p>"Are you listening to me?" Tom´s voice has lost a bit of that dreaded smugness and borders on annoyed. "It´s not a hard position and it´s well paid, much better than playing waiter in a mediocre pub could ever be. You just have to read the contract and sign on the line right here," A long, pale finger stabs the bottom of the page. "And then we´ll be done."</p><p> </p><p>If Harry were not furious, he´d be offended at how Tom seems to think he´s the type of person that only reads a contract once. But he is still very much fuming, so "No, I don´t think I´ll be doing that. Truth be told-" He grabs the folder and takes the contract out. "-I much rather be doing this." </p><p> </p><p>The paper rips unevenly, one part much larger than the other. It´s almost still usable, but Harry thinks it´s gotten his point across anyways. Tom looks pretty pissed now, mouth a straight line, shoulders squared.</p><p> </p><p>"Let me make myself unequivocally clear since you seem confused about your place in this: I am not <em>asking </em>you, I´m <em>telling </em>you. I say you´ll start working for me and that is <em>it. </em> It´s a good job, my reputation will be intact again and we both come out of this unscathed. There is no need for a temper tantrum, I truly thought you were above this by now. Besides," Ah, there´s that sugar-sweet smile again. "I imagine you wouldn´t want for your former workplace to find itself in the middle of a hygiene scandal, would you? It happens sometimes, but several customers with food poisoning are challenging for a restaurant to come back from..."</p><p> </p><p>"You wouldn´t dare," Harry grits out between clenched teeth. </p><p> </p><p>Tom raises an eyebrow. "Wouldn´t I? Have we met before? There are few things I wouldn´t do in the name of upholding a certain reputation."</p><p> </p><p>That, for all the bullshit Tom has spewed this whole time, is an indisputable truth. </p><p> </p><p>Reputation is important in the world in which Tom Riddle moves, almost synonymous with power. Harry may only be the ward, not an actual Riddle, not even sharing the last name, but people still know his face. He is still connected to the Riddle´s, five years of no contact haven´t changed anything in that regard. His current position would most certainly be a blemish on the otherwise strictly anti-proletarian family history. </p><p> </p><p>Yes, he can see why Tom wants him working somewhere more subdued. The problem, the real problem with that is just that he <em>doesn´t want to</em>. He doesn´t want to subordinate his wishes, doesn´t want to fit into the world he ran from years ago again and really,  <em> really </em>doesn´t want to spend time with Tom. What he <em>wants </em>to do is be selfish, just for once, to live his life after his own measures. He won´t, though. Because Tom is as much a bastard as he was years ago.</p><p> </p><p>"Okay. But I´m agreeing to this only so that you can´t ruin my friends´ lives. I wouldn´t spit on you if you were on fire, don´t get any ideas." Harry picks up the bigger part of the contract where he had dramatically left it on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>"You got a pen?"</p><p> </p><p>"For you always, my dear." One big difficulty about working with (<em> for</em>, a familiar-sounding voice in his head reminds him) Tom will be suppressing the urge of removing that smug grin from his face forcefully. It´s getting real difficult right now. </p><p> </p><p>Harry scrawls his name on the dotted line at the bottom of the contract. It looks misplaced, he hasn´t mastered the art of signing yet, maybe never will, but it makes him feel weirdly satisfied. That´s how he´ll be in this way too fancy building; an unshapely squiggle in a world of flawlessness. At least he can say from experience that he is really good at that. Practice makes perfect, one could say.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Fantastic. Now that that is out of the way, I assume you would like to go home? It has gotten late and there are other matters that need my attention. If you talk to the receptionist, she´ll call you a car that drops you off."</p><p> </p><p>Harry can´t believe it. Tom has made such a fuss about this whole ordeal, has even resorted to threats, only to wave him off like that? He doesn´t want to spend any more time here in Tom´s presence but that doesn´t mean that this isn´t disrespectful. <em> Harry </em>wasn´t the one who forced his company on an unsuspecting, hard-working man, after all. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, sure. See you whenever." He refuses to put any more energy into Tom and his weaknesses of character.</p><p> </p><p> "Tomorrow will be best. Just be here by eight-thirty. And please try to wear something a bit less... promiscuous. I enjoy it, but I doubt others will. That´ll be all, if you may?"</p><p> </p><p><em> Die</em>, Harry thinks. "Okay," he says.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of the door slamming shut vibrates in his ears long after he has left Tom´s office. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps, he ponders, had the Shakespeare plays he had to read in school been a lot more factual than he formerly assumed.</p><p> </p><p>"Hell is empty, and the devils are here!" doesn´t sound really all that fictitious right now.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As you can see, there is STILL nothing in here that justifies the mpreg-tag. I hope to get to it soon, if not I´ll have to up the chapter count. I hope you are also here for a bit of plot and not only preggo fluff :))</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Somebody got my poorly done John Mulaney reference!!! Whoever you are, you´re my friend. To everybody else that commented and gave kudos as always a big thanks as well. Y´all are water on my mills (you probably don´t say that in English, whatever).</p><p>I apologize in advance for the time between this and the next chapter. I have exams every week until May because the people that planned them are probably misanthropists. BUT, this chapter is the longest so far, so maybe that counts for something.</p><p>Cheers mates and enjoy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> You don’t have a home until you leave it </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and then, when you have left it, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> you never can go back.  </em>
</p><p><em> -</em>James Baldwin, Giovanni´s Room</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The first thing Harry does when he gets home is text Ron.</p><p> </p><p>Well no, that´s not <em>entirely</em> true. The very first thing he does is take off his shoes because even in times of crisis he is no barbarian and also hates hoovering. </p><p> </p><p>But then, he immediately texts Ron. He´s glad that he can, glad that his phone wasn´t in his work bag, because that one is still laying peacefully in "<em>Perzer"</em>´s changing room, probably having the time of its uneventful life right now. But no, due to a completely empty battery this noon he can now exchange heated texts back and forth with his favourite person in the world.</p><p> </p><p>Said favourite person had set their virtual conversation´s tone with about a million increasingly hysterical messages asking about Harry´s whereabouts, why his ridiculously posh,<em> he talks like the bloody Queen</em> acquaintance left a 100-pound tip and how Harry had been fired with immediate effect. </p><p> </p><p>Upon reading that last one, Harry´s stomach had dropped. He hadn´t been surprised, Lockhart has always made it unmistakably clear how every employee had to be on their shift on time, how there were no excuses, how wandering off was a sure way to get fired. Still, it had hit Harry hard, the knowledge that just like that, six months of training and adapting have gone in the bin. Not that they wouldn´t have anyways, but it´s still sad. </p><p> </p><p>The text that upsets him most though has been the one written in all uppercase about how Harry´s acquaintance, who Ron during the duration of his monologue primarily calls a gone to the dogs tosser, hadn´t only left a lavish tip but also a complaint about Harry´s work attire. </p><p> </p><p>It´s the last message in the lot and Harry has to take a moment to take some deep breaths and recall all the bad things he has heard about prisons and how murderers are treated there. It does nothing to calm him down, but at least the urge to drive back to Tom´s office and strangle him has subdued to an almost manageable level. </p><p> </p><p>Apparently, that complaint had contributed greatly to Lockhart´s decision to<em> let go</em> of Harry, which most certainly had been exactly what Tom aimed for.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn´t really change anything in the sum of things, he would have gotten fired regardless, which, oh yeah, that´s <em>also</em> Tom´s fault, but it still infuriates Harry that Tom has gone to such great lengths to make sure he has nowhere to turn to. </p><p> </p><p>Sighing deeply, Harry starts writing Ron a quick recap of what had happened, rewriting almost every word because not even autocorrect can pick up on what his angrily shaking fingers are trying to type.</p><p> </p><p>He gets a reply almost instantly, one reflecting his own state of mind and terrible spelling. Ron threatens physical violence,<em> mate me sister hs a blac belt im karate she can kick hiss ass</em>, which Harry doesn´t plan to fall back on, but it´s still reassuring to know he has the option for somebody actually capable of fighting (he´s a pacifist in truly violent situations, it can´t be helped) to beat Tom up. Ron´s sister would probably not live to tell the tale but the picture is nice.</p><p> </p><p>Their conversation ends with Ron promising to go meet him at his new job and bring him his bag that indeed still is laying in the changing room. It also allows Ron to, quote, assess the situation. They don´t make out a definite date, because Harry wants to wait for a day where Tom maybe feels a little less psychotic than usual and Ron doesn´t run hazard to get all his self-esteem wrecked. It has happened before, Tom insulting one of Harry´s (sparse) friends to the point of crying just for fun. </p><p> </p><p><em>Bloody hell</em>, he has found back into old patterns alarmingly quickly, building his whole life and social interactions around Tom´s fragile nerves. He really fancies a few sherbets right now.</p><p> </p><p>Harry pulls his dress-shirt over his head and gives it a disdainful look. He doesn´t know how, but it is at fault in this whole mess. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, the kitchen seems very far away and he can feel the adrenalin induced energy leave his body at once. He´ll get a beer later, Harry decides, now he´ll just lay down on the couch for a second, just close his eyes for a short little nap...</p><p> </p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>When Harry wakes, sticky eyes slowly blinking into consciousness, the day´s events rush to him almost immediately. It´s unfair really, that he doesn´t even get a short moment of ignorant bliss from how his life has gone to absolute shite. </p><p> </p><p>Groaning, he untangles himself from the couch cushion that has mysteriously found its way onto his chest, sticking to his bare skin uncomfortably. He feels feverish in a way that is only possible due to a severe flu or an escalated nap.</p><p> </p><p>It´s fully dark outside, meaning he has slept at least a couple of hours longer than planned. When he began his nap, the sun wasn´t even setting yet, with summer solstice right around the corner. </p><p> </p><p>He pulls off his trousers, which had dug harshly into his belly and back while he slept and stumbles his way over to the kitchen only in boxers. The clock on his stove is the only light source in the room, giving everything an artificial red glow. It´s sort of gloomy and very fitting. </p><p> </p><p>One look at the time makes him brush over his plans for a pleasant buzz for a second time this night. He´s not ever had a high tolerance for booze, not even lightweight stuff like beer and a hangover is basically self-sabotage when in a room with Tom Riddle. He momentarily ponders if he should get some fags at the store, but the thought of putting on clothes sets him off. Not even in a neighbourhood as shabby as his would public nudity get overlooked.</p><p> </p><p>So, instead of doing anything fun and self-destructive, Harry just drinks water straight from the tab, decides against brushing his teeth (because fuck hygiene, he is sad and caries is probably propaganda anyways) and drags his feet into his bedroom and onto the bed.</p><p> </p><p>His last thought before sleep claims him again is<em> Oh, maybe I should´ve set an alarm</em>. </p><p> </p><p>-------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Harry dreams of drilling machines and fire alarms. It´s not really clear how those two images are connected, they seem to just float around aimlessly while Dream-Harry tries to catch them. </p><p> </p><p>Something in Harry´s subconscious seems to be paying attention though, because next that he knows, he´s sitting upright in his bed, very much awake with his puls going madly fast. </p><p> </p><p>It takes him a second to connect his rapidly slipping dream with the events in the awake world, but it´s really not that much of a puzzle. </p><p> </p><p>He more or less rolls out of bed, misses it´s comfort immediately, remembers at last second to put on some trousers that lay close by and opens his front door to make the doorbell stop ringing. </p><p> </p><p>"Mister Harry Potter, sir?" There´s a man right in front of his door, wearing a dress-shirt, a vest and a chauffeur´s cap. He has gigantic ears and kind of looks like that one country´s president.</p><p> </p><p>"...Yes?" Harry says wearily. He has never seen the man before, so it´s likely not a neighbour. His neighbours also only have 50% max. of their teeth left and this man looks like he lives at a dentist. </p><p> </p><p>"Mister Harry Potter, sir, my name is Dobbson. Ford Dobbson, you can call me Dobby, sir. Master Riddle send me, to bring you to the chambers because you didn´t show up, he said, sir."</p><p> </p><p>The man, Dobby, looks almost sheepish speaking the last words as if he is uncomfortable calling Harry out.</p><p> </p><p>"I- um, well, I just woke up, I have to still get dressed and eat, hrm, so..." Harry tries his hardest not to be rude to the man, to not curse him out for waking him and transporting him seamlessly back into Tom´s clutches. It´s not Dobby´s fault, he´s just following orders and avoiding Tom´s wrath. </p><p> </p><p>Dobby does not say anything, just looks incredibly distressed and Harry wonders for a moment if Tom is really managing to terrorize everyone around him. </p><p> </p><p>He would ask Dobby, but he doesn´t want to scare the poor lad further, so he just sighs and mumbles "I reckon I can get ready in maybe 5 minutes at best if you want to wait that long? You don´t have to, I can get a cab or something..." That last phrase is pretty much a lie because Harry doesn´t even remember the street the chancellery is in, he was so out of it yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>"No no, Master Riddle said I should bring you to him at all cost. It´s no trouble at all, sir!" </p><p> </p><p>Harry just shrugs at that. It is trouble probably, Dobby has better things to do than wait for him, but oh well, nothing that can be done about it. </p><p> </p><p>"Urm, do you want to come in? You don´t have to wait in the stairwell."<em> It´s not safe</em>, Harry wants to add but doesn´t. "How did you get in, by the way, did someone ring open for you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh no, the door downstairs was open, sir, I just let myself in, somebody probably forgot to close it."</p><p>Most likely some pissed blunderer, Harry thinks, continuing to keep silent about his precarious living arrangement. He doesn´t need Dobby tattering to Tom about it. His new "employer" (big quotation marks) has enough to humiliate him already, no need to fuel the fire.</p><p> </p><p>Dobby gives him a winning smile and pushes him lightly back into his flat. "I´ll stay here, Mister Harry Potter, sir, just come out when you´re done."</p><p> </p><p>Harry is a bit startled by that sudden tactility and closes the door almost on instinct. He knows that the door between Dobby and him is little more than a piece of paper noise-cancelling wise so he saves screaming frustratedly for a later time.</p><p> </p><p>He goes brushing his teeth because Dobby´s perfect pearly white ones have motivated him and also because his mouth tastes like he imagines a crematorium´s floor would. </p><p> </p><p>That opens the stage to a whole other problem, which would be food. He last ate hours ago, scraps from the restaurant´s kitchen during a small break, and now there´s an impressive hole in his stomach. Cooking is out because he has two minutes to the targeted five left and is still not wearing a shirt, so he settles for a pack of biscuits and a banana, throwing both into the one other bag he possesses that is not catching dust in an enemy´s territory.</p><p> </p><p>The clothes are picked fast, slutty enough to infuriate and disobey Tom but not foolish-looking (at least not much, he doesn´t really have the time nor skill to colour coordinate). </p><p> </p><p>Almost exactly five minutes later, Harry stumbles out of his door. Dobby is leaning against the opposite wall, looking appropriately bored. </p><p> </p><p>"All ready, mister Harry Potter?"</p><p> </p><p>Harry nods and lets himself be steered out of a building and into a black car for the second time in two days. Dobby doesn´t even need brutes on the side, just a quick step and polite door-opening.</p><p> </p><p>The drive to Tom´s is silent. Dobby doesn´t say anything, probably preoccupied driving and fixing his chauffeur's cap so that it sits perfectly straight atop his head. Harry also doesn´t start a conversation, he is busy imagining what Tom will do to pay him back for being a glorious one and a half hour late. It´s surprising he send Dobby only just now, really. </p><p> </p><p>They arrive too quickly for Harry´s taste. Dobby opens the door for Harry in that preciously serious way of his and wishes him to<em> have a good day, mister Harry Potter, sir</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Harry trots into the lion´s den, defeated.</p><p> </p><p>----------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Harry doesn´t see Tom one time in the next two weeks, all his carefully constructed slutty outfits wasting away. He mostly works with a woman named Hermione, who has perhaps the most impressive hair Harry has ever seen, putting Gilderoy Lockhart to shame easily. Underneath all those coils is a brain with the capacity of a high-end computer, which makes working with her madly productive. </p><p> </p><p>At first, they hadn´t gone along very well. It is excruciatingly clear that Harry´s job doesn´t need to exist and is only making Hermione´s life harder. She is a law student and working at the chancellery for practical experience, as she explains to him a tad snobbishly and really, she is very good at what she does. There are more assistants, but she is the most capable by far. It´s only fair that she gets annoyed by his lacking knowledge in the area of law, Harry finds. It takes a bit, but after she finally merely gives up on trying to explain to him the statute law and why it apparently exists but doesn´t really, they get along splendidly.</p><p> </p><p>"Hermione, where exactly <em>is</em> Tom?" Harry breaks after two and a half weeks. He has done his best to fight it, but enough is enough. Every day, Dobby is there to drive him to and from work, which apparently is a direct instruction of Tom´s, everyday Hermione has new, completely pointless little tasks for him, also coming directly from Tom and not once has Harry seen the man himself. </p><p>He should be glad, he knows, but to be fully honest... He isn´t. He was kind of stoked to be around Tom again, to have somebody to snark at. And, well, a loathsome part of his maybe kind of enjoys looking at Tom´s grown-up face. He´s pretty, okay? He can still hate him while admiring his objectively perfectly symmetrical face and strong brows and pretty oceany eyes and... </p><p> </p><p>Oh no, no, no, cut it, Potter. This is not the time nor place, there will never be a time or place to swoon over Tom I eat soules for supper Riddle. Talking to Hermione, that´s what he was doing. He should focus on that.</p><p> </p><p>"-still meeting with a partner in Paris, as far as I know." Is what she is ending her response with right now. </p><p> </p><p>Partner, that can only be Abraxas Malfoy. It had honestly surprised Harry when he first read the law firm´s name;<em> Riddle, Malfoy, Black &amp; Rosier</em>. How Tom managed the legal studies in only six years he understands, but all of them? Abraxas maybe, Orion if the sun stands exactly right, but <em>Rosier</em>?</p><p>When Harry took off five years ago, everything had pointed to Rosier just ending his studies, finally putting all those tutors of his out of their misery. Perhaps, there had been a change of attitude in the years Harry was gone. Perhaps, Rosier had finally gotten his shite together and really worked for something the first time in his spoiled life. Perhaps, but unlikely. How it probably went down was that his family pulled a few strings and <em>remarkable, the Rosier heir is suddenly getting fantastic grades</em>. It would certainly not be the first time. </p><p> </p><p>"Harry? Harry? Are you not feeling well? You are very absent-minded today."</p><p> </p><p>"No, no, everything´s alright, just... Haven´t slept well last night, yeah. So, erm, do you know when he´ll be back?" He´s just curious, that´s the only reason he´s asking. It´s illogical, that´s what this is, that Tom weaselled off to France the exact moment Harry started working here. Maybe he´s planning something. Harry should be prepared.</p><p> </p><p>"Mister Riddle didn´t say. If you have a question for him, I can surely deliver it for you. Or is it something else...?" Hermione looks at him suspiciously, like she knows something Harry doesn´t.</p><p> </p><p>"Just curious is all. Doesn´t matter anyway. Let´s just go back to the files, I´m still looking for that bloody Nott-one." Harry bends over the table again. Looking for that file gives him an excellent excuse to not look Hermione in the eyes further.</p><p> </p><p>"Alright then. Something unrelated, have you heard of Ron recently? We´ve talked about meeting up sometime, but I´ve got no way of contacting him except for you."</p><p> </p><p>Ron has visited Harry last Tuesday and he and Hermione had instantly clicked. It was really sweet to watch how they both tried so hard to start a conversation, Ron with a red face and Hermione with both hands in her hair, tangling her locks nervously. If talking about Ron distracts Hermione´s sharp mind from the whole Harry-Tom situation for only a second, he´ll happily engage in a bit of bants. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, we´ve texted yesterday evening. He actually asked me to give you his number, but explicitly only if you like, no hard feelings and stuff. He talks about you all the time, it´s actually disgusting."</p><p> </p><p>Ron and Hermione are what is important right now. </p><p> </p><p>Tom Riddle can choke. Really, he <em>means it.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tom isn´t even IN THIS, how´re they supposed to shag and produce a babe?!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>